


Take Me Home

by PoorMedea



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Snark, This is ridiculous, and then more snark, thoughts about the album
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorMedea/pseuds/PoorMedea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick calls Harry the day the album comes out, with some <i>observations</i> about the content.</p>
<p>Or, in other words:</p>
<p>
  <i>You could just as easily have called it ‘Casual Fucking with One Direction, Shaggers of the Year.’</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Home

“So,” Nick drawled into the phone. Harry knew that tone of voice—it meant he was going to be subjected to the oh-so-droll wit of his best friend. Given that the album had come out that day, he could guess what Nick’s subject was going to be. “When you said this album was going to be more mature…”

Score one for Styles, Harry thought with a roll of his eyes. “Yes?” he prompted, dropping down onto his sofa. There was every chance they were going to be here for a while.

“ _Some_ people might have thought you meant a more sophisticated sound, or a richer tone, or more varied subject matter…”

“Uh huuuuh,” Harry drawled.

“But instead,” Nick’s voice was dripping with amusement. “ _You guys_ meant more songs about fucking?”

“What?” Harry spluttered, trying not to be distracted by the way Nick said ‘fucking’. “We did not!”

“No?” Nick laughed. “Then why are all these songs about fucking? On the album called ‘Take Me Home’, no less.”

“They are _not_ all about fucking. They’re about love!”

“No, no, young Styles. _Pretending it’s love_ is not the same as love. Nor is ‘getting some.’”

“Fine, fine,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Live While We’re Young talks about pulling. But that’s just one song. Haven’t you bothered to listen to the whole album?” He pouted into the phone. “It’s been out for,” he glanced at his watch, ”six whole hours.” 

“Of course I’ve listened to it!” Nick sounded genuinely offended. “Twice. Now, let’s go on to track number two.”

“Oh god, are you going to go through the whole album? I know what’s on it! It’s my album!”

“If you knew what was on it, you’d admit that you could just as easily have called it ‘Casual Fucking with One Direction, Shaggers of the Year.’”

“Hey, I’m proud of that title!” Harry said immediately, looking at the framed Sun award on his wall. “But that’s just the media trying to make us into something we’re not! Track two is totally innocent. It’s just about kissing!”

“It’s _called_ Kiss You, I’ll give you that,” Nick snorted. “But let’s look at these lyrics: I want to _take you_ anywhere you like? Tell me how to _turn your love on_?”

“It only sounds dirty when you say it like that!” Harry protested. “It’s just your filthy tone.”

“Oh yeah? Then what does ‘if you don’t want to take it slow, if you just want to take me home’ mean? Are you saying it’s not the same thing as ‘we just met, but let’s pretend its love’?”

“Well…” Harry hedged. “ _Track three_ is incredibly romantic. Just ask Ed.”

“He’s more romantic than the lot of you, that’s true,” Nick agreed. “But ‘Little Things’ is still _implicitly_ about fucking. If you’ve seen a girl’s back dimples, thighs, and stomach, you’ve fucked her.”

Harry…couldn’t really argue with that. But. “Implicit fucking is not the same as explicit fucking.” 

“True. Which brings us to track number four!”

“Oh, c’mon…” Harry groaned and then winced. “No pun intended. C’mon C’mon is just about _dancing_.”

“Oh, is that what you kids are calling it these days?” Nick giggled. “Move a little closer? I want to be yours now? You know how to move? _Show me what you’re all about_?”

“That’s not about sex!” Harry paused. “Is it?”

“What the fuck else could it be about? You’re basically asking her to show off her lady bits right on the dance floor.”

“Lady bits? Christ you’re gay.”

“Yes,” Nick agreed. “Besides, I didn’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities. In fact, I’m not sure you’re old enough to be listening to this kind of stuff.”

“I sing it!”

“I know,” Nick said. “Frankly, I’m shocked. Now, where were we?”

“Last First Kiss,” Harry grumbled. “Which you can just skip. I _know_ what that one’s about.”

“Deflowering!” Nick crowed. “I didn’t think you lads even met any virgins anymore.”

“We don’t! I’ve never _deflowered_ anyone,” Harry hissed. Despite what the media thought, he hadn’t even been with a girl in a few months. He’d been… busy. 

“Well, I should hope not! Who’s still a virgin at thirty?”

“I hate you,” Harry groaned.

“No,” Nick disagreed. “So, after you’re the _first to take her all the way_ ,” he giggled. “Heart Attack is fairly tame.”

“Thank you!” 

“Also, ridiculous,” Nick put in.

“Hey!”

“Ow!” Nick taunted, screeching it down the line loud enough to make Harry jerk away from the phone. “Ow! Ow!”

“It’s catchy,” Harry defended. 

“All your songs are catchy,” Nick agreed. “Now, ‘Rock Me’. Hmm…what other words are four letters and end with a ‘ck’. Harry? Any ideas?”

“Fuck you.”

“Precisely!” Nick said triumphantly. Harry wondered if he’d be forgiven for just hanging up on his friend now. After all, there were still ten more tracks to go.

“And then we’ve got ‘Change my Mind,’ which is all about spending the night. What do you think you’re planning on doing during that little sleepover, young Harry?”

“Pillow fights.”

“Ah, of course! Now, should I go on?”

“Please don’t. I get it: I Would is all about dirty thoughts, and Over Again talks about bodies intertwined and parts _fitting_.”

“Don’t forget ‘British showers,” Nick interjected. “Which has to be a euphemism for _something_.”

“I did wonder about that,” Harry admitted.

“Now let me ask: when you say ‘they don’t know about the things we do’—is this album supposed to be a remedy for that?” 

“You’re awful,” Harry frowned. “Oh, wait! Summer Love!”

“What about it?”

“It’s not about fucking!”

“Oh really?” Nick drawled. Harry could hear rustling in the background. “Let me just consult this handy lyrics booklet. Oh, here we go: ‘find someplace to hide, make the last time just like the first time.’ No, you’re right. That’s probably just talking about exchanging friendship bracelets.”

“Crap.” 

“Exactly.” Harry could just picture Nick’s stupid, gleeful grin, all teeth and eyebrows and quiff. “So, I’ve made a handy chart.”

“Of course you have.”

“And we’ve got four tracks that are implicitly about fucking. And nine that are explicitly about it.”

“ _Nine_?”

“Hey, I didn’t write it,” Nick said blithely. “I mean, neither did _you_ , but…”

“I wrote some of it!” 

“And I can guess which bits,” Nick said, managing to make that simple sentence sound as dirty as possible, lasciviousness just dripping from his voice. 

“You know,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Some people might question a guy who decided to spend his afternoon reciting dirty lyrics down the phone at another guy.”

“Not if they knew that guy was Harry Styles,” Nick disagreed. 

“Oh.” Even with Nick’s acerbic tone, Harry could recognize a compliment when paid one. “Um, thanks?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the dreamiest guy on the planet. Anyone would be lucky to hear you sing about explicit casual fucking at them,” Nick laughed. 

“Damn straight,” Harry agreed. “You really listened to the album twice already?”

“Of course,” Nick said, fondness in his tone. “After all, I had a chart to make.”

“Ah, yes.”

“Also, I’m a very famous radio DJ. I don’t know if you knew.”

“I might have heard something about it,” Harry agreed.

“Also, this album may be all about fucking, but it’s also by my best friend.” Nick paused. “I don’t know if you knew.”

Harry beamed into the phone, not caring if he looked like a crazy person. Nick was all cool, hipster irony, but he still obsessively listened to Harry’s albums, bopping around his flat while screaming ‘Up All Night’ at the top of his lungs (he particularly liked the bit about breaking the table, as it was something he could relate to). And now here he was, listening to Take Me Home more closely than probably some of the producers had. It was…heart-warming, in it’s own weird, mocking way.

“Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

“Letting the dreamiest guy on the planet cook me dinner while I do nothing helpful whatsoever?” Nick asked hopefully.

“What a coincidence!” Harry mock-exclaimed. “ _I’m_ spending the night cooking dinner for a dreadful hipster in his dreadful kitchen, while he does nothing but mock the very album that keeps him in moderately-priced wine and cannelloni.” 

“Ooh, cannelloni!” Nick moans. “That’s what you should sing about on your next album, Harry. It would have girls’ panties dropping way faster than all this talk of first touches and broken parts.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll avoid that last one if I’m ever trying to pull.” Harry agreed, searching for his shoes. “If it’s broken, how exactly am I supposed to give it to her?”

“Precisely! Just the thing I was wondering.”

“Great minds. I’ll see you in thirty?” Harry asked. “Just have to run by the store.”

“Bring biscuits!”

“You are spoiled.”

“I’m telling you, this is song-writing _gold_. Forget skeezy hookups in clubs. What gets girls swooning is a man who’ll bring biscuits and not even make her change out of her sweatpants.”

“Are you saying that I make you swoon?”

“Yes,” Nick said instantly, and even though Harry knew he was joking, he felt his face heat. “Now hurry. I need chocolate and pasta.”

“In that order?”

“Maybe,” Nick said imperiously. “Who are you to judge? You’re the type to tell his summer love not to bother calling or writing. Presumably because you’re going to spend the fall asking to see girls’ bits in club bathrooms.”

“Oh, baby,” Harry cooed into the phone. “You know our summer meant more than that to me. Besides, I let you call all you want, even when I’m in the middle of receiving very important awards.”

“I can’t be expected to keep track of all the awards you get,” Nick said dismissively. “If you want me to remember that I should save my Great British Bakeoff commentary until later, maybe you should _invite_ me to all these fancy awards shows.”

Harry smiled fondly into the phone, imagining how fun it would be if he really could bring Nick to stuff, the way Louis got to bring Eleanor everywhere. Nick’s remarks on people’s outfits alone would make it worthwhile. “Would if I could, darling.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick grumbled. “That’s what all the famous popstars say to me. I’m tired of being your dirty little secret!”

“If they knew, they’d just be jealous of us,” Harry dutifully recited, locking his front door behind him and patting himself down for his car keys.

“Damn straight,” Nick agreed. “Everyone is jealous of me.”

“Too true. How much wine should I buy?”

“I’m offended you even have to ask,” Nick said haughtily. 

“All the wine, then?” Harry guessed.

“See you in a few, popstar! Try not to casually fuck someone on the way here!”

“The papers will say I did either way,” Harry grumbled.

“Hey,” Nick’s voice softened a bit. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just an image.”

“I know,” Harry sighed. “It sells more records than if I sang songs about sitting around your flat watching you snog my cannelloni.”

Nick gave a barking, spluttering laugh. “I don’t know,” he snickered. “That sounds pretty sexy to me.”

Harry replayed his words in his mind and groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Oh didn’t you?” Nick sing-songed, his most obnoxious tone. “Or is that what they call a Freudian Slip?”

“ _You’re_ the one who’s obsessed with my cannelloni,” Harry countered, sliding into the driver’s seat of his Range Rover. “Maybe you need to do some self-analysis.”

“Nah,” Nick said. “Anyone with a radio already knows I’m obsessed with you. No analysis needed! Now, bring me dinner.” Nick hung up and Harry stared at the phone in his hand for a long second.

The thing was, he wasn’t _entirely_ sure Nick was joking. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part. But it wasn’t every day he got phone calls from attractive men spewing filth at him down the line. 

It was, however, nearly everyday that Nick mentioned him on the radio, or called him for no reason, or demanded he come over and make dinner.

Harry drove to the nearest Sainsbury’s and walked mechanically through the aisles, lost in thought. Finally, he did what he always did, and called in reinforcements: a group text to the rest of the lads.

_Do you think Nick wants to have sex with me?_

Louis’ response was first, as usual: _Of coooooooooourse_

Louis’ opinion didn’t really count, though. As Harry’s _other_ best mate, Louis was contractually obligated to think everyone wanted to shag Harry.

Zayn’s response came just a moment later, and was just as predictable: _Don’t text me this stuff you homo_

And just as unhelpful.

Harry was already back in his car when Liam and Niall responded nearly simultaneously. 

_Probably. He looks at you a lot,_ was Niall’s sage advice. And he wondered why he was still single.

_Be careful! Use a condom! Don’t get hurt!_ Liam’s frantic care was obvious even in text form.

Well, that was that, then. Three yeses (of a sort) and one homosexual freakout. 

Harry pulled up in front of Nick’s flat and was relieved to see there were no paps camped outside. There weren’t even any lingering fans, which was practically a miracle, given the amount of time Harry spent out and about with Nick. More girls seemed to hang out outside his flat than the studio these days. (Nick insisted they were all there for him, of course. Harry never contradicted him). 

Nick wrenched open the door with enthusiasm, and despite what he said on the phone earlier, he looked very nice, in tight black skinny jeans and a button-down. 

“Hey,” Harry shouldered past him, shoving a packet of biscuits in his hand as he went. “Open the wine and I’ll start on the pasta.”

“So demanding,” Nick muttered, but Harry could hear the grin in his voice. He got himself set up in Nick’s kitchen which, at this point, he knew as well as his own (maybe better), and listened as Nick came in behind him, humming to himself as he searched for a corkscrew.

“I Would?” Harry said, turning to shoot his friend an amused look.

“What? It’s catchy,” Nick protested.

“So you don’t have an imaginary boyfriend I need to know about?”

“You know the only imaginary relationship I’m in is with you, Styles. No need to worry.” Nick grinned but Harry felt his heart skip nonetheless. 

Turning back to the bottle, Nick began crooning, “Would he say he’s in L-O-V-E, well if it was me, then I would, I WOULD.” 

“You are completely tone-deaf,” Harry said, knowing he was blushing. “How are you a professional in a music-related industry?”

“I’m wildly good-looking.”

“Oh, yes. That must be it.” Harry finished filling the pasta and pushed the dish into the oven. “Come on, handsome. Pour some wine and entertain me.”

“Ha! That’s rich! What do you think I invited you over here for, if not to be my performing monkey?”

Harry looked at Nick, all lanky limbs and giant quiff and aquiline nose and tiny freckles on his cheeks and skinny legs and big hands and warm heart and quick wit and…well, he made up his mind.

“Um, to try and seduce me with my own song lyrics,” Harry arched an eyebrow. “Apparently.”

Nick froze, wine bottle hovering over an empty glass. “I am...doing nothing of the sort.” He tipped the bottle over and stared with rapt attention at the red liquid chugging into the glass.

Harry grinned. “No? You don’t want to hold me when I’m feeling low?”

“I already do that,” Nick grumbled, still not meeting his eyes.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Harry sang, voice low. Nick’s head came up, eyes wide like a trapped animal. “Move a little closer now,” Harry sauntered forward. “C’mon, c’mon, ain’t no way you’re walking out.”

“Well, it’s _my flat_ ,” Nick mumbled as Harry stopped right in front of him.

“C’mon, c’mon, show me what you’re all about…” He finished with a flourish, pressing into Nick’s space. “Huh, you’re right. That _does_ sound dirty.”

“I told—” Nick’s words were lost in the press of Harry’s mouth to his. For a second Nick just flailed, large hands dangerously close to the full wine glasses, but then he settled his grip on Harry’s hips and tilted his head into the kiss, licking full and deep into Harry’s mouth.

“Feeling a rush?” he mumbled as Harry shivered and pressed closer. 

“What?”

“Every time we touch?”

“No more talking,” Harry demanded, leaning back in to cut off Nick’s prattle with a deep, wet kiss. 

“But I want to know if we’re friends or are we mo-o-ore?” 

Harry pulled back to look at Nick’s laughing face. “I would hope that was obvious by now.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I wouldn’t mind some further demonstration.”

“Bedroom?” Harry suggested, a finger tucked into one of Nick’s belt loops. 

Nick’s eyes skated behind him. “Yes. You’re got…thirty-seven minutes.”

“Thirty-seven?”

“If you think I’m missing out on your cannelloni just to taste your … _other_ cannelloni, you’re sadly mistaken, Styles.”

“Oh god,” Harry laughed. He glanced back at the clock on the stove. “We’ve got time for both,” he decided, dragging Nick off down the hall.

“If you don’t want to take this slow, if you just wanna take me home,” Nick sang the whole way.


End file.
